Tails (and Other Appendages) of an Equestrian Thespian

Some of you may have seen a very quaint little series from back in the early 80s called "The Good Life" starring Penelope Keith, Felicity Kendall and Paul Eddington.                                    

For those of you who are familiar, there is one episode where Keith rather fancies herself as a potential Tony-award winning actress and wins the lead in the local production of "The Sound of Music".

  After seeing her performance, we see Eddington and Kendall staggering in looking quite shell-shocked and reaching for the Scotch.

Eddington pauses in wonder and asks "Why did she sing "Maria"?" to which Kendall responds, "Because that was the name of her character..."

There is another pause as Eddington takes a full swig from the bottle before murmuring incredulously, "But the song is from "West Side Story"!"

The reason I am bringing  this little gem to your attention, is because I was ambushed last night into going to dinner with some of the man of the manor's friends.  I say "ambushed" because this all came about in a very clever way, on his part.

Imagine sitting down after a hard day's work and finding yourself fully engrossed in something fascinating...say, "Entertainment Tonight". Let's also picture that in the midst of admiring what George Clooney is wearing (or not wearing) beachside at his Malibu home, you become aware of an annoying little buzz in your left ear. You realise after swatting at it for a few minutes, that it is actually your husband calling something at you from the doorway.

"What? Uh huh..Ok! Yep..No worries...uh huh" you fire back, anxious to be rid of the disruption and back to your Wednesday-night perving pleasure.

Now, fast forward six weeks....to the day. You stagger home from work only to discover that you wholeheartedly agreed to have dinner with his friends who live an hour away and have a fondness for steaks so well-done you could lace them up and wear them as hiking boots.

To be fair, the night was quite reasonable. The friends in question are theatre buddies of my husband, and after a few, several (ok...four bottles) of good merlot, the talk inevitably turned to on-stage "moments".

I used to tread the boards myself for years. I embarked on my drama adventures as early as six when I was cast as "Willy Wonka" in my primary school production of "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory". It was a lot of fun, and even though Willy Wonka was the wrong gender and often lost and overshadowed by much taller and gangly Ooompah Loompahs whose voices broke every time they hit the high note, it gave me a taste for the stage.

The beauty of live theatre is its delicious unpredictability.

It is one thing to shoot a movie scene over and over until it's perfect, in the director's eyes - but acting out a scene live is always fraught with the possibility that something...something..is going fuck up in the most magnificent way.  After 30 years of ducking in and out of the dressing rooms, there are a couple of memorable incidents that spring to mind.

During my first Shakespearean effort, "Richard III" (a big call for a small local theatre group in Far North Queensland), the director insisted that we acquire a real stallion for the occasion. After all, we couldn't have our little despotic humpback striding around the stage on a hobby-horse.

After much searching we did find a suitable specimen... a geriatric dobbin called "Banjo". 

"Banjo" seemed to fit the bill perfectly. He was old and docile, and with a little push from half of the cast, he never missed his cue.

It was only during the last show of the run that "Banjo" decided he wasn't getting the accolades he so surely deserved.

I was in the green room watching the climactic scene where Richard calls out passionately, "A Horse! A Horse! My Kingdom for a horse!".....when I heard the audience roar with laughter.

Given that this was one of the more serious scenes of the play, I had to wonder why the crowd was clearly wetting themselves with mirth.

On closer inspection, I realised that unbeknownst to the actor, "Banjo", who had been so complacent and accommodating throughout the run, was sporting possibly the biggest equine hard-on I (and subsequently the viewing audience) had ever seen.

It is safe to say, that when the curtain went down, the audience were on their feet screaming for more; however "Banjo" wasn't pole-dancing for anyone.

Another unforgettable instance was more recent.  The man of the manor and myself decided we would risk the divorce courts and actually participate in a play together – "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof"

The boy was playing the lead role of "Big Daddy" and I was given the part of his blonde, bitchy and heavily pregnant daughter-in-law "Mae" (and yes, the local newspapers had a field day with that one, thank you very much).                                            ..

In one scene, "Big Daddy" and his injured son "Brick" have a colossal argument. Brick is on crutches and the actor playing the role slammed the crutch against the floor on a nightly basis in order to show "Big Daddy" just how miffed he was.

One night, close to the end of the season, we had a large group of elderly people attending from the local nursing home. Rather like "Banjo", these people were docile and easy to please. During the heated argument scene, "Brick" slammed his crutch against the floor; only this time, the crutch flew out of his hand, bounced along the stage and into the audience, hitting a little old lady fairly and squarely between the eyes.

Here was our dilemma.

Did we stop production to go and take this (now unconscious) woman's pulse? Given that she was at least 102....in the shade...the argument could have been made that she was so bloody sick of hearing Australian actors trying to pull off a Southern accent (which by all accounts sounded like a paddle of ruptured ducks) that she simply passed on to greener pastures during Act III.

Or...did we proceed with the show and tackle the problem of trying to get a new crutch on stage for our now "crutch-less" leading actor?

Our sage stage manager went with option B.

Now, just picture if you will........

You are watching a play and the lead actor is flailing around on the floor, having just hurled his crutch at the unsuspecting audience. Ambulances are screaming outside and, quite frankly, the old biddy behind you has a golf-ball-sized lump on her forehead and is turning decidedly blue around the gills.

Miraculously, from the left side of the stage, you espy what seems to be a magical, levitating crutch emerging from thin air, and into the hands of said writhing thespian on floor

You may have returned home, in a somewhat shell-shocked state...reaching for the Scotch bottle.

I have not had the opportunity to grace the stage for some time. Life and other irritations seem to be getting in the way.  Besides, it is a known fact that one should avoid working with small children or animals....

 However, I woke up groggily this morning with a note next to the table from my host.

It appears that I have been volunteered to audition for their upcoming production....

Equus.....